


Get A Little Lost

by writesometimes



Category: The Nice Guys (2016)
Genre: But only of the emotional variety, Case Fic, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, like the slowest of burns, they're co-parents without realizing it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writesometimes/pseuds/writesometimes
Summary: Holland and Jackson are hired by a young woman desperately searching for her fiancé. The case leads them on a trip up north to a small town and a cheap motel.
Relationships: Jackson Healy/Holland March
Comments: 18
Kudos: 102





	Get A Little Lost

The sun was just slipping below the horizon when Jackson climbed out of his car and made his way up the driveway of the March rental property. He knocked on the bright red front door before he tried to turn the doorknob. It didn't budge but he couldn't find it in himself to get too irritated. After all, it had been less than a year since the whole fiasco with John Boy and Amelia. If Holland and Holly had decided to start locking the place up after that, who could blame them. He cleared his throat and leaned in close to the door. "Holly, it's me! Open up!" he called. The younger March had called him half an hour ago, summoning him to their home so she could fill him in on a potential new case. If Holly was playing secretary it usually meant Holland was too far into a stupor to be of much use. He knocked again, glancing around to make sure nothing seemed out of the ordinary.   
  
Finally, Holly jerked the front door open, phone receiver tucked between her shoulder and ear. She smiled sweetly at him and stepped aside to let him in the house. "Yeah, Jessica, I know. I know. Well she's _your_ sister so... uh huh. Look I gotta go, okay? Mr. Healy just got here."   
  
Jackson watched as the small blonde wandered off into the kitchen to hang the phone back up. He looked around and spotted Holland on the floor of the living room, giant headphones covering his ears, his head bobbing to a tune only he could hear. "Jessica's sister having more boy troubles?" Jackson called to Holly as he headed in the direction of the kitchen.   
  
Holly rolled her eyes and moved toward the stove. "When isn't she?" she quipped as she stirred something in a pot on the front burner. She tapped a wooden spoon against the pot, set it on a spoon rest and spun around to face Jackson once more. "He's in there." Holly pointed into the living room and sighed.   
  
"Yeah, I saw. I don't think he's going anywhere for a while, I'm not worried." He shrugged and sat down in a chair at the kitchen table. "What are you making?"  
  
"Spaghetti," Holly answered with a proud smile. "You wanna stay for dinner?"  
  
Jackson swept non-existent crumbs from the table with the back of his hand and stared at the formica surface. Over the last month, things between him and Holland had become somewhat strained. Any time they spent more than a few hours together, Holland picked a petty fight. Jackson wanted to chalk it up to stress from taking on more cases and the rebuild currently underway at the old March property, but a small part of his brain told him Holland had finally had enough of him.   
  
"Mr. Healy?" Holly urged from her spot in front of the stove, "Are you gonna stay for spaghetti?"   
  
"I don't know if I should," Jackson replied with a small shrug.   
  
Holly grabbed three plates out of a cabinet and started setting the table. "Of course you should," she insisted as she set a place in front of Jackson on the table. She smiled at him as she set napkins out beside all the plates. "Besides, I gotta tell you about the lady who called earlier anyway. Might as well have a hot meal while you listen."  
  
Jackson chuckled and shook his head. The March's were fluent in charm, that was certain. "You got me there, kid. Should I go rouse him for supper?" he hooked his thumb over his shoulder toward the living room.   
  
Holly leaned over and glanced into the living room. "Sure. He's been in there with the same cassette on repeat for like an hour. I finally put the headphones on him so I could hear Jessica on the phone." A timer chimed and pulled Holly's focus to the stove. "Gotta drain the pasta."  
  
Jackson stood slowly and made his way into the living room. There were two lamps on in opposite corners of the room, casting a warm glow about the space. Holland sat on the floor, leaned back against the light green sofa, legs sprawled out in front of him on the shag carpeting, long headphone cord cutting through the middle of the room. Jackson stood in front of the blonde and tugged on the headphone cord.   
  
Holland's eyes fluttered open and a crooked smile spread across his face. A few notes of _Can't Find My Way Home_ filtered out into the room from the headphones as he pulled them off his ears. "Healy!" he slurred from his spot on the floor. "What are you doing here?"  
  
The grin on Holland's face told Jackson that he had already forgotten picking a fight with him that afternoon over what gas station they should fill up at. The fight wasn't a particularly bad one, it would have barely registered as a disagreement under usual circumstances, but the fact that Holland would fight with him over anything lately made it seem worse than it was.  
  
Jackson cocked his head to the side and studied the blonde for a moment. "Dinner's ready," he said simply.  
  
Holland reached up, arms outstretched, hands grabbing at the air. Jackson sighed, grabbed the man's hands and hauled him up off the shag. "When did you get here?" Holland giggled as he threw his arms around Jackson's neck and buried his face in the man's shoulder.   
  
Jackson sighed and leaned his head back to get a better look at Holland. "I haven't been here long." He pushed the younger man backwards a bit and held onto his shoulders to keep him upright. "Holly called me," he explained, "She said we had a potential case."  
  
Holland nodded and hummed sagely. "She's a good kid."   
  
Jackson headed for the kitchen, Holland hanging off his side, and deposited the blonde into a chair at the table. "She even cooked dinner," Jackson pointed out. The table was set, food portioned out neatly onto the plates, and Holly sat at the head of the table. Jackson took his seat between father and daughter and tucked his napkin into the collar of his shirt. "Thank you, Holly," he murmured before he dug into his spaghetti.   
  
Holly nodded at him and took a bite of her dinner. "So," she began after everyone had started their meal, "a woman called today looking to hire you guys. I took down some notes." She pulled a notepad from her lap and began reading. "Her name's Cheryl Scott. She's in Hawthorne. Says her fiancé is missing and she can pay in cash."  
  
"Cash?" Holland perked up, eyes wide as he looked at his daughter.  
  
"I told her you guys could meet her at one o'clock tomorrow afternoon," Holly went on as she twirled some spaghetti around her fork.  
  
Jackson nodded slowly as he processed the information. It wasn't much, certainly brief and basic enough that Holly could have just told him over the phone. He watched as she slid the notepad away from her and got back to her food. She was a smart girl, there had to be a bigger reason she'd invited him over. She just hadn't revealed what it was yet.   
  
They finished their meal in relative silence after that. Holland drank three glasses of water through dinner, gulping down more and more every time his daughter looked his way. The girl began to clear everyone's plates when they'd finished, but Jackson waved her off. "You cooked. I can clean," he reassured as he took the stack of plates from her small hands. Holly gave her dad a very pointed look before she disappeared into her room.  
  
Holland cleared his throat and shifted in his seat so he was facing Jackson where he stood at the sink. "Sounds like a pretty easy case," he mused quietly.   
  
Jackson grunted in agreement as he drizzled dish soap over the plates in the sink.   
  
"Cash'll be nice too. Cash is good. I like cash."   
  
Steam rolled off the water pouring out of the faucet and Jackson simply nodded.   
  
Holland ran a hand through his hair and then patted the chest pocket of his shirt, checking for a pack of cigarettes. He let out a relieved sigh when he felt the familiar rectangle beneath the fabric. He procured a cigarette from the pack and lit it quickly. "I'm sorry, about earlier. The gas station. I just... I don't know," he mumbled around the filter of his cigarette.  
  
Jackson turned the sink off and turned around to face Holland. So Holly had called him over to their house so her dad could apologize. How she had found out about the fight in the first place was still a mystery, but Jackson knew without a doubt she hadn't just called him over to give him a name and an appointment time. Jackson squinted at Holland. The dark circles under his eyes looked almost painful under the bright kitchen lights. "You gonna freak out over filling stations tomorrow when we drag our asses out to Hawthorne?" Jackson inquired.   
  
Holland blew out a steady stream of smoke and shook his head. "I will behave like a full grown adult all the way to Hawthorne. Scout's honor." He gave Jackson a mock salute.   
  
Jackson shook his head and a fond smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You been sleeping?" he asked casually as he turned back to the sink.  
  
"Here and there," Holland replied over the running water. "I'll get a nap in before we leave so I won't be cranky if that's what you're worrying about."  
  
Jackson scrubbed at a spot of spaghetti sauce. "I'm more worried about unleashing you on Hawthorne, sleep deprived and hungover." He set the pot he'd scrubbed clean on a dish towel with the rest of the plates and glasses he'd washed and turned again to face Holland. "I'll be here around twelve tomorrow," he said, drying his hands on the font of his jeans. He shuffled away from the sink and into the entryway. "Don't forget," he called sternly.  
  
Holland scrambled into the entryway after him, smoke trailing through the house after him. "I won't, I won't. Lady wants to pay in _cash_ I won't forget."   
  
Jackson studied Holland silently for a moment, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Were you really a boy scout?" he asked after a while.   
  
Holland chuckled and plucked the cigarette from his lips. "I was. For three years."  
  
"No shit," Jackson laughed.  
  
"Longest three years of my fuckin' young life. I'll never go camping again."  
  
Jackson laughed in earnest then, eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached for the doorknob and shook his head. "Noon tomorrow. Be ready." He pulled the door open and looked back at Holland once more. "Tell Holly the spaghetti was delicious," he said with a smile before stepping out onto the porch and pulling the door closed behind him.  
  
Holly poked her head out from the short hallway once Jackson was gone. "So did you apologize?" she asked impatiently.   
  
Holland jumped slightly and spun to face his daughter. "Jesus," he wheezed. "Yes, I apologized. How'd you know we fought anyway?" he asked as he stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray sitting on the bar.   
  
"You always come home in a snit and Mr. Healy doesn't come in when you've done something stupid." Holly crossed her arms over her chest and stared her dad down.  
  
"How come _I'm_ automatically the one who did something stupid?" Holland asked, a hand on his hip.  
  
Holly raised an eyebrow and continued to stare silently.   
  
"Fair point," Holland conceded, nodding.   
  
With an exasperated sigh, Holly grabbed the phone off the wall and quickly dialed Jessica's number.  
  
"Hey, you have any homework?" Holland called after his daughter as she headed back down the hall toward her room.   
  
"It's already done," Holly called back before she pulled the pocket door to her room shut. She greeted Jessica when the girl finally picked up her phone. Holly flopped back onto her bed and twisted the phone cord around her index finger.   
  
"Did it work? Did they make up?" Jessica asked excitedly.  
  
Holly switched the phone to her other ear. "Of course," she sighed. "They couldn't stay mad at each other even if they were paid to," she said matter-of-factly.

* * *

Jackson parked out front of the March residence at eleven forty-five and pulled his sunglasses down his nose as he looked at the house. A man was in the driveway, leaning against the convertible crookedly parked there. Jackson squinted and shook his head. The man in the driveway ashed his cigarette and waved. "March?" Jackson called in disbelief as he climbed out of his car.   
  
Holland flicked his cigarette into the street and sauntered down the driveway. "Told you I wouldn't forget," he taunted, smug smile on his face.   
  
"Has hell frozen over?" Jackson quipped as he came to a stop in front of the younger man on the sidewalk.   
  
"Ha ha," Holland deadpanned. "I got the address here," he waved a piece of paper between him and Jackson.  
  
Jackson stared at his own reflection in Holland's aviators for a moment before he reached out and grabbed the piece of yellow paper. He glanced at the address and then back at Holland. He had on mustard pants, a white button up shirt, and a navy sport coat and it looked like he had actually brushed his hair sometime that morning. His navy tie was the only thing out of place, loose and crooked against the crisp white of his shirt. Jackson reached out and straightened his tie for him.   
  
Holland tugged on the lapels of his sport coat. "Do I look professional enough to go to Hawthorne?" He spun around in a slow circle, arms outstretched.  
  
"You look fine," Jackson mumbled, studying the address again as if it held the secrets of the universe. He blamed the flush creeping up his neck on the afternoon heat.   
  
"Do you like, not own a tie?" Holland asked, poking Jackson in the chest.  
  
Jackson swatted his hand away and shot him an exasperated look. "I don't need a fuckin' tie," he groused.  
  
"But I wear one," Holland insisted. "You should wear one too so people know we're professionals."  
  
"I'm not buying a tie."  
  
"You don't even _own_ one?"  
  
"What in the hell would I have a tie for? Before this I smacked assholes around for a living. You don't exactly need formal wear for that line of work." He held out his hand, palm up, and looked at Holland over his sunglasses. "I'm driving," he said seriously, changing the subject.  
  
Holland dropped his car keys into Jackson's palm and shrugged. "Fine, chauffeur me to Hawthorne my good man." He hopped over the side of the convertible and plopped into the passenger seat, kicking his feet up on the dashboard. He looked up at Jackson with a shit-eating grin.   
  
Jackson rolled his eyes and dropped down into the driver's seat. He started the car without a word and backed out of the driveway.   
  
"What if I bought you one for your birthday? Would you wear it then?" Holland asked as they pulled out of his neighborhood.   
  
"What?" Jackson barked.  
  
"A tie. Would you wear a tie if I bought you one for your birthday?"   
  
"Do not buy me a tie for my birthday."  
  
"What if Holly got you one for your birthday. I bet you'd wear it then."  
  
Jackson sighed and took the next left.   
  
"You totally would," Holland laughed. "You'd wear it and you'd love it cause it would be from Holly. Jackson Healy, big softie."  
  
Jackson pulled onto the freeway and shrugged. "I like her more than you, of course I'd wear one if she bought it. Wouldn't want to hurt her feelings. But Holly would never buy me a tie if you didn't tell her to. So I know if I get a tie this year, it'll have been your idea."  
  
Holland laughed and shook his head. "Wow," he said with a grin. "I feel like getting you the ugliest tie I can find now, just to see the look on your face."   
  
Jackson just shook his head and changed lanes.  
  
They sat in silence for a while after that as they drove through Los Angeles traffic. Jackson flicked the radio on and stared out the windshield. Holland reached into the breast pocket of his sport coat and fished his pack of cigarettes out, a grimace on his face as he shook the delicate paper package trying to dislodge a smoke. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he sighed, shaking the pack to no avail. "I'm out of smokes," he groaned, tossing the empty pack against the dashboard.   
  
Jackson looked over at him from the driver's seat and squinted. "Are you twelve?"   
  
"Fuck you," Holland grumbled.  
  
"I thought you were gonna be an adult today. 'Scout's honor', remember?"  
  
"I hated the scouts."  
  
"You're unbelievable," Jackson muttered as they came to crawl on the freeway. "Look, we're almost there. We'll get you more cigarettes on the way back, okay?" he offered, trying to placate his partner.  
  
"Fine," Holland grumbled.   
  
Jackson gripped the steering wheel tight and took a deep breath. He wanted to ask Holland what his problem was lately, but he was about seventy percent sure the blonde would throw the car door open and step out, even in the middle of the goddamn freeway. So he turned the radio up and kept his eyes peeled for the exit they needed to take. It wasn't long before they pulled off the freeway and came to a stop in front of a small bungalow style house. "This is the place," Jackson offered quietly, checking the house's address against the one on the piece of paper they had.  
  
Holland pushed his aviators up on his nose and sighed. "Hey, wait," he grabbed Jackson's forearm as the man reached for the door handle.   
  
Jackson dropped his hands into his lap and looked over at Holland. "We _will_ get cigarettes. I promise," he insisted, irritation lacing his words.   
  
"No, hey, I know we will. I just... I'm sorry. Okay?" Holland shifted in the passenger seat and popped the car door open. He gave Jackson an apologetic smile before he climbed out of the car.  
  
Jackson shook his head in disbelief and climbed out of the car. There was definitely something going on with his partner, but he knew better than to pry. With Holland, if you wanted him to talk you just had to give him time and he'd eventually spill his guts out of guilt or an alcohol haze. Usually a combination of the two. So he figured he'd wait it out and sooner or later the answers would come to him. Jackson put the thought out of his mind for the time being and quickly made his way up the porch steps of the bungalow and rapped on the front door. "Just keep it together in here, please," he hissed at Holland as the blonde came up the steps.   
  
Before Holland could respond, a woman who couldn't have been a day over twenty-two opened the front door. She had faded blue jean shorts and a green paisley tie-back halter top on. Her bright blonde hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders. She was the personification of Southern California cool.  
  
"Are you Ms. Scott?" Jackson asked.  
  
"Yeah, you guys must be the investigators. Come in." The woman pushed the screen door open wide and waved them into the house. She lead them through the entryway to a small sitting room and all but collapsed onto a small, pink velvet sofa. She grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the coffee table and quickly lit one.  
  
Jackson and Holland sat down on a second small couch across from the one Cheryl had plopped down on. The room had a distinct bohemian vibe to it, macrame art hung on the walls, incense burned on the coffee table in front of them. Holland sighed as he dug his notepad and pen out of his sport coat pocket. Hippie types were usually pretty grateful for his help but rarely able to pay very much and his hopes for an incredible cash windfall dried up before his eyes. He cleared his throat and clicked his pen. "I'm Holland March and this is Jackson Healy," he tilted his pen towards Jackson.   
  
"Cheryl Scott," the woman supplied softly.  
  
Holland nodded once and flipped his notepad open to a blank page. "Ms. Scott I understand you called us because your fiancé is missing?"  
  
"Yes, John Porter," Cheryl replied.  
  
"How long has it been since you last saw him?" Holland asked.  
  
Cheryl gently tapped her cigarette against an abalone ashtray that sat on an end table beside the sofa. "A week. He left in his truck and just... hasn't come back. I went to the cops," she laughed bitterly and took a drag off her cigarette, "They told me he probably went to 'blow off steam' before we tied the knot. Bunch of dicks. His parents are in Tennessee, they don't know where he is. I just want to know what happened to him. We're actually, like, really happy, you know?" Tears brimmed in her eyes and she tucked her blonde waves behind her ear. " I don't know why he left, or where he went. I don't know what's going on. I just want to find him."  
  
Jackson leaned forward, his blue jacket crinkling lightly, and rested his elbows on his knees. "Has he ever done this kind of thing before? Taken off I mean? Even just for a day?"   
  
"He's gone away on weekends before, for work or for fun with friends, but he always comes home by Sunday night. I've asked around with his friends, they all say he isn't with them."  
  
"What does he do for work?" Holland asked, tapping the point of his pen on his notebook, his leg bouncing rapidly. Jackson glanced at him briefly, noting how much he was beginning to fidget. If Holland didn't have a cigarette soon, the ensuing tantrum would be a headache for the older man. Jackson shot him a pointed look and Holland took a deep breath.   
  
"He works at 'The Wave'. It's a little surf shop out on Manhattan Beach. They sell boards and wax and everything, you know, for surfing," Cheryl shrugged, taking another drag off her cigarette before stubbing it out in the abalone ashtray.   
  
"His friends could just be covering for him if he went out of town and he didn't want you to know," Holland suggested curtly.  
  
Cheryl shook her head quickly. "Someone would have said something by now. I know they would. Even just to let me know that he was okay. Someone would have told me _something_."  
  
Holland ran a hand through his hair and glanced at Jackson.  
  
"Please, Mr. March." Cheryl's lower lip quivered. "I have to know what's going on. I just want to marry John. I want this to be a misunderstanding or something. Please help me. I'll even call my dad and get more money if I have to. I just have to know where John is." A tear finally escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek. Then another. She wiped her face quickly, trying to remain calm.  
  
Jackson thought the entire concept of marriage was, at best, a colossal waste of time but Cheryl's big, green, pleading eyes were making him soft. She really seemed to love the guy and just wanted to marry him. He reached across the coffee table and patted her hand gently. "Ms. Scott, we'll do what we can, okay?" He gave her a sympathetic smile.   
  
"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" Cheryl scrambled off the sofa and made her way over to a cabinet in the corner of the room. She pulled out a fringed leather purse and looked at Jackson with wide eyes. "How much do you guys need to get started?"  
  
"We could probably get started for, oh... let's say four-hundred dollars," Holland informed her slowly as he stared at the purse.   
  
Cheryl pulled a wallet from her purse and took out a small photo and some cash. She walked back over to the sofa and handed the money and photo over to Holland. "That's all I have right now," she said with a frown. "And that's John," she explained, tapping the edge of the photo.  
  
Holland counted out two-hundred and sixty dollars and tapped his pen against his notepad.   
  
"Well, look, we can get started with this and you can call us back when you get the rest, okay?" Jackson reassured. Holland kicked his foot and looked at him, wide eyed. Jackson ignored him.   
  
Cheryl started openly weeping. "Thank you. So much. I'm gonna call my dad tonight and ask him for the rest of the money, I swear. Thank you."  
  
"No problem, Ms. Scott. We'll be in touch okay?" Jackson reassured. Cheryl nodded quickly. "Hey, you know, I hate to do this," Jackson said, scratching the back of his neck as he stood, "but do you think I could bum a smoke?" He pointed to the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table and winced.   
  
"Oh, sure, of course. Here." Cheryl grabbed the pack and passed him a cigarette.   
  
"Thanks," Jackson said, tucking the cigarette behind his ear.   
  
Cheryl lead them back out of the house and thanked them once more as the stepped out onto the front porch. 

"Daddy better be fuckin' loaded," Holland grumbled as soon as the front door closed.   
  
Jackson leaned over and slipped the cigarette Cheryl had given him between Holland's lips. "There, will you stop being so goddamn cranky now, please."  
  
Holland smiled as he watched Jackson head for the car. He pulled his lighter from his pants pocket and lit the cigarette. He casually strolled off the front porch and took a long drag. "You know, you take every case a woman cries to you about and we're gonna get screwed eventually," he warned as he pulled the passenger-side door of the convertible open. "Shit, we could get screwed now. We only got part of what I asked her for." Holland stared at Jackson as he plopped down into the car.   
  
Jackson started the car and pulled away from the curb. "I thought that was what we were supposed to do. People call, they hire us, we work for them."  
  
"Yeah people hire us and we work for them, but not for a fraction of the price that we quote them." Holland hung his arm over the side of the car and ashed his cigarette. "I mean, I'm running a business, not a charity. Who do you think pays for all those Yoo-hoos Holly splits with you?"  
  
"Should we head to the surf shop?" Jackson asked, changing the subject as he got back on the freeway.   
  
Holland glanced at his watch and shrugged. "I don't see why not. I say this guy is probably partying it up somewhere and his friends are just covering for him though."  
  
"Then this'll be a quick and easy case, wont' it?" Jackson retorted as he glanced over his shoulder, preparing to change lanes.   
  
Holland sighed and slid down in the passenger seat. His blonde hair fluttered around in the breeze as the car zipped down the blessedly uncongested freeway toward Manhattan Beach. "Don't forget I need cigarettes," he all but pouted as he stubbed his cigarette out in the car's ashtray.   
  
Jackson rolled his eyes.  
  
Twenty minutes of freeway travel and one stop at a convenience store for a pack of cigarettes later, Jackson parked the car outside of 'The Wave'. It was a smaller than he'd expected. He and Holland climbed out of the car and made their way into the shop. Different sized surfboards hung on the walls, a counter in the back was cluttered with various containers. A man in board shorts and tank top passed through a beaded curtain that hung behind the counter and greeted them with a smile.  
  
"You guys lookin' for some beginners boards?" the man asked, a confused look on his face.   
  
"Why would you assume we need beginners boards?" Holland huffed.  
  
"The tie," Jackson whispered as he leaned over into Holland's space and tugged on his tie.  
  
"Shut up," Holland hissed back, snatching his tie from Jackson's grasp.  
  
Jackson let out an amused laugh.  
  
"I'm getting you for your birthday for sure now," Holland groused.  
  
"How many times am I gonna have to explain this?" the man behind the counter sighed in exasperation. "The Sex Wax really is just for the boards, man. Honestly. I don't care who you're doin' it with okay, like whatever gets your rocks off, but it really is _just_ for the boards. Maybe we should put like a disclaimer out front or something."

"What?" Holland shrieked. "We don't... that's not... sex wax? What are you --"  
  
"We're not here for that," Jackson interrupted calmly.  
  
"We don't have sex," Holland blurted. "I mean, together. I've had sex. Just not... with him."  
  
"Okay." The man behind the counter nodded slowly, his gaze darting between Holland and Jackson. "So, like, what _are_ you here for?"  
  
Jackson walked up to the counter and placed his palms down on the smooth wooden surface. "We're looking for a man, John Porter. We were told he worked here."  
  
"Yeah, Johnny works here. Why are you lookin' for him?"  
  
"His fiancé hired us to find him. She says she hasn't seen him in a week."  
  
"Cheryl hired you guys?"  
  
"Yeah, so just tell us where he is and then we can go tell Cheryl and get out of your hair," Holland stated simply, walking up to the counter.   
  
"I don't know where he is," the man said, shaking his head.   
  
"Okay, look, he hasn't kicked anyone's teeth in in about eight months or so," Holland pointed over at Jackson, "but we could fix that today."  
  
"I don't know where Johnny is. I swear," the man insisted.  
  
"When was the last time you saw him?" Jackson asked.  
  
"Like a week ago I guess?"  
  
"That's not odd to you? That you haven't seen your co-worker in a week?" Jackson asked in disbelief.  
  
"Well, no, man. Johnny doesn't _just_ work here at 'The Wave' if you... know what I mean."  
  
Jackson and Holland stared at the man expectantly.  
  
"You guys aren't cops, right?"  
  
"Oh for Christ's sake, no we aren't," Holland sighed.  
  
"Okay, so like, Johnny is pretty tight with the owner here right? And he wanted to make some extra cash to, like, help pay for his wedding and for the down payment on the house for him and Cheryl and stuff. So Tom, the owner," the guy pointed to a picture hanging on the wall of a middle aged man smiling on the beach, "He offered Johnny some work on the side, to make some money off the books. You know..." the man looked around the shop and leaned across the counter, "selling pot," he whispered.  
  
"That doesn't explain where he's been for a week," Jackson quipped.  
  
"Sometimes Johnny takes off, up north, to sell stuff for Tom. I just figured that's where he must be."  
  
"Does Cheryl know he's doing this?"  
  
"Nah, he didn't want to tell her 'cause he didn't want her to worry, you know, that they couldn't afford stuff or that he was doing something risky."  
  
"Where does he go? To sell the pot?" Holland leaned against the counter and smiled wearily at the employee.  
  
"He was going to Santa Cruz for a few weeks but lately he's been heading out to Lodi."  
  
"Lodi," Holland deadpanned.  
  
"Yeah, Lodi." The man nodded rapidly.  
  
"Okay, how about this, here's our card," Jackson slid a business card across the counter, "We're gonna keep looking for John and if _you_ see him, you call us."  
  
The man picked the card up and studied it for a minute. "Okay, yeah man. If I see him I'll call you guys."  
  
Jackson drummed his hands on the countertop and smiled. "Thank you." He turned and walked out of the surf shop, Holland close on his heels.   
  
"What do you want to do now?" Jackson asked as he dropped into the driver's seat.  
  
"I want to get away from this surf shop, I want to have a cigarette, and I want you not to bring up Lodi until I've had at least three fingers of whiskey," Holland rattled off as he placed a cigarette between his lips.  
  
Jackson started the car and stared over at Holland. The blonde just stared back. "Have you ever been to Lo--"  
  
"No, I haven't," Holland interjected, "I just know you're going to say we have to go there to look for a guy we haven't even been paid in full to look for. And it's far. And I don't want to go."  
  
Jackson sighed deeply and rolled his eyes. "Should we pick up something for dinner on the way back?"  
  
Holland glanced at his watch. "Yeah, Holly will probably be home by the time we get back and she'll be hungry."  
  
Jackson nodded and pulled away from the curb.

* * *

"Holly, honey, dinner's ready," Holland called as he set a bucket of fried chicken down on the kitchen table. He made his way to a cabinet to grab some plates.   
  
Jackson deposited a box of biscuits on the table next to the chicken and took a seat. "Is she home?" he asked, popping the box of biscuits open.  
  
"Phone's off the hook, cord's pulled down the hall, I'd say it's a safe bet she's home," Holland pointed out as he grabbed a drumstick out of the bucket.   
  
As if on cue, Holly appeared in the kitchen. She hung the phone up and smiled. "Mr. Healy," she greeted the man sweetly.  
  
"And _dad_ , who bought dinner," Holland chimed in.  
  
Holly rolled her eyes and picked out a couple pieces of chicken and a biscuit. "So, how was the lady in Hawthorne? What's the case?"  
  
"Her fiancé is missing," Holland said around a mouthful of chicken. "She hasn't seen him in a week. He might be in Lodi. We didn't get paid the full amount I quoted her."  
  
"Lodi?" Holly wrinkled her forehead in confusion. "Why would he be in Lodi?"  
  
Holland stopped chewing and stared at his daughter like a deer in headlights.  
  
"Work," Jackson offered with a casual shrug, as if it were a boring subject.   
  
Holly just nodded and took a bite of her chicken.  
  
"Thank you," Holland mouthed to Jackson across the table.  
  
"So are you guys going to Lodi then?" Holly asked, her eyes lighting up.  
  
"Not if we don't get paid. And no, you are _not_ coming if we do go." Holland gave his daughter a serious look and plucked another biscuit out of the box.  
  
Holly frowned and pushed her plate away from her.   
  
"Holly, it's gonna be boring anyway. And we don't know how long we'd have to be there. We don't want you to miss school," Jackson reasoned.  
  
Holly picked at the biscuit that sat on her plate. Holland smoothed his mustache out with his thumb and index finger and leaned forward on the table. "Honey, Jackson's right. If we have to go you can stay with Jessica. We'll call you regularly and update you on the case but we talked about this, remember? You can't come along on jobs. It's not safe."   
  
Jackson nodded in agreement from his spot at the table.  
  
"I know, I know," Holly sighed. "I have a big book report due anyway and Lodi doesn't sound like it'd be a trip worth tanking my grade over." She grabbed her plate off the table and made her way to sink.  
  
Holland looked over at Jackson, mouth agape. "That's good, sweetie, prioritizing your education." His eyes went wide and he mouthed 'wow' at his partner, still in awe he wasn't having an argument with his daughter.  
  
The phone rang loudly and interrupted the calm in the room. Holland jumped up and snatched the phone off the wall, barking out a greeting. He leaned against the counter as the person on the other end of the call began talking. After a few seconds his eyes went wide and he nodded quickly. He rattled off his address and smiled. "That was Cheryl. She says she got the rest of the money from her dad and she's coming by to pay us right now. Said her dad can even loan her more cash if need be." Holland waggled his brows as he hung up the phone. "This might not be such a shit case after all."  
  
Holly stepped around her father and grabbed the phone off the wall. "Guess I'll call Jessica and see if it's okay if I stay over." She disappeared down the hall with the phone lodged between her ear and shoulder.  
  
"Did she just... not fight with me?" Holland asked in a daze as he plopped back down into his seat at the kitchen table.  
  
Jackson smiled and cocked his head to the side. "She's a good kid." He pushed his chair away from the table and grabbed his and Holland's empty plates. "She's just, you know, curious and headstrong. She definitely takes after you," he remarked with a sly grin, their dishes clinking as they landed in the sink.  
  
Holland gave him a crooked grin. "She's smarter than I'll ever be," he sighed, shaking his head.  
  
"Oh, well that goes without saying, but you two do have your similarities."   
  
Holland crumpled up a napkin and tossed it at his partner. "Dick," he laughed as Jackson dodged the napkin. "Want a drink?" he asked as he rose from the table.   
  
Jackson leaned back against the sink and crossed his arms. "No, I'm good." He watched as Holland grabbed a glass from the counter and dropped in a few ice cubes.  
  
The doorbell rang just as Holland wandered over to the bar and began pouring himself a very generous helping of whiskey. "Get that?" he asked Jackson as he screwed the cap back on the green liquor bottle.   
  
Jackson pulled the front door open and came face to face with Cheryl Scott. She stared at him in confusion. "Hi, Ms. Scott." he greeted with a smile. Cheryl continued to stare. "Is something wrong?" Jackson asked quietly.  
  
"Oh, no, I'm sorry. I just thought... I thought this was Mr. March's place. I just didn't expect for you guys to live together or anything. I mean, that's cool you know! I just wasn't... expecting it?" Cheryl smiled nervously. "Uh, anyway. I have the rest of the money. And John's license plate number. I forgot to give it to you earlier. Thought it could help." She shrugged as she handed over a while envelope. "Thanks, again, for helping me."  
  
"Sure, of course Ms. Scott. We'll be in touch, all right?" Jackson nodded slowly and bid the young woman farewell. He shut the front door and turned around to find Holland leaning against the counter of the bar, sly grin across his face.   
  
"Is it all there?" Holland asked before he took a swig of whiskey.  
  
Jackson thumbed the envelope open and counted the cash. "Yup, all here. And John's license plate number too." He held up a little slip of paper with neat numbers printed on it.   
  
Holland squinted at the piece of paper and then sauntered out from behind the bar. "We're _officially_ on the case now," he beamed, tossing his arm around Jackson's shoulders. "Come on, have a drink with me to celebrate!"  
  
Jackson took a deep breath and his nostrils filled with the scent of the cologne Holland wore despite not being able to smell it himself. The scent was comforting to Jackson in a strange way. He chalked it up to familiarity and decided he didn't want to think about it anymore. He stepped away from Holland a bit and shrugged. "What the hell, I'll have a beer."  
  
Holland laughed and walked into the kitchen, grabbed a beer from he fridge, and tossed it to Jackson. He meandered through the house after that and pulled the back sliding glass door open. "It's nice out here," he called as he disappeared into the darkening backyard.  
  
Jackson followed Holland out, found him already sprawled out on a patio lounger, cigarette burning. It was a pretty nice night, not too warm, a cool breeze floating through the yard. The stars were just starting to twinkle to life. It was pretty perfect as far as Jackson was concerned. He dropped down onto the other patio lounger and opened his beer. "So, am I allowed to mention Lodi now?" he snarked.  
  
Holland shifted on his patio lounger and smiled up at Jackson. "I guess, if you have to."  
  
"You think we should head out to Lodi?"  
  
"No, but you do. So we'll probably end up out there."  
  
"How else are we supposed to find out if this guy is out there?"  
  
"I don't know," Holland shrugged as he finished his whiskey. "I was thinking we could sit on the surf shop for a few days, see if he comes back."  
  
Jackson took another sip of his beer and rolled the idea around in his brain for a moment. "I don't think we're going to get much more information from the surf shop," he said as he stared at the rim of his beer can.   
  
"You're probably right," Holland groaned.  
  
"I'm sorry, what was that? I'm probably _what_?" Jackson teased.  
  
Holland reached out and swatted Jackson's knee. "You're probably right, you prick."  
  
Jackson chuckled loudly and took a long drink of his beer. He hummed contentedly and leaned back in the lounger. "Should we leave tomorrow then?"  
  
Holland scrunched his face up in irritation and rolled onto his side to get a better look at Jackson. "Fine," he sighed dramatically. He reached over and tapped his empty drink tumbler on Jackson's thigh. "You're driving," he said through a crooked smile.   
  
"No fuckin' shit," Jackson laughed as he finished his beer. "I should probably get going then, if we're heading out tomorrow." He rose slowly from the lounger.  
  
Holland set his whiskey glass down on the concrete and grabbed the edge of Jackson's blue jacket. "You could stay. I mean, we'll probably have to leave early. If you're already here, it would save time."  
  
Immediately his brain starting screaming at him that he'd gone too far, but the whiskey humming through his veins didn't care. If he had it his way, Jackson would never go back to his little apartment over the comedy club ever again. But that was a dangerous thought, even the whiskey knew that.   
  
Jackson's gaze darted from the empty whiskey tumbler on the concrete to the man sprawled out on the patio lounger who was still clutching his jacket in his fist. He wanted to stay. He wanted to tell Holland all he wanted to do was to stay, but it seemed like the potential for that discussion to turn messy was too great that night. "I gotta pack a bag and shit," he explained apologetically instead. Holland released his jacket and grumbled something unintelligible. "I'll be back around eight tomorrow morning, okay?" Jackson informed more than asked.   
  
Holland sat up and flicked his cigarette into the empty pool. "Sure, fine, whatever. Tomorrow," he muttered.  
  
Jackson patted Holland on the shoulder. "Thanks for dinner. And the beer. I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
Holland didn't say anything as Jackson showed himself out. Once he heard the front door close, he snatched the whiskey glass up off the patio and dragged himself into the kitchen. He knew one day he was going to have to examine his ideas and feelings and shit concerning his partner, but for the time being it was easier just to be a dick and have a drink. That was his most tried and true defense mechanism, why fight it?   
  
The click of Holly hanging up the phone pulled Holland from his thoughts. "Did the lady bring the rest of the money?" she asked as she slid onto a barstool at the counter.   
  
Holland just nodded.  
  
"So are you guys going to Lodi?"  
  
"As long as you can go to Jessica's tomorrow."  
  
"Yeah, her parents said it was fine."  
  
"Okay. Tell em' I can give em' some cash after we get back to cover food and stuff."  
  
"Don't say 'and stuff', dad," Holly reprimanded, laughter in her voice.  
  
Holland beamed at his daughter. "You're rubbing off on me, brat."  
  
Holly smiled sweetly at her dad. "You'll call me? To let me know what happens?"  
  
"Of course, sweetie. I'll call you the absolute second we get to Lodi." Holland walked over and pressed a gentle kiss to his daughter's head.   
  
"Okay." Holly stuck her pinky finger out at her dad. He wrapped his pinky around hers and smiled.

* * *

At eight the next morning Jackson knocked loudly on the March's front door. To his surprise Holland answered, still in his pajamas, a large cup of coffee in hand. The blonde stepped aside silently and ushered Jackson inside. Holland still said nothing as he shut the front door and took a long drink of coffee. Jackson studied Holland for a moment. He wore gray sweat pants that hung precariously on his hips and a stretched-out white tank top. Jackson cleared his throat and made his way into the kitchen so he wouldn't have to look at the exposed tufts of Holland's chest hair that peeked over the neckline of his tank top.  
  
"You gonna be ready at any point today?" Jackson asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee.   
  
Holland flopped down into a kitchen chair and nodded. "I just have to see Holly off and then change."  
  
Jackson stared out the window in an effort to continue keeping his eyes off Holland's chest.   
  
"Does Holly need a ride to school or --"  
  
"No, I can take the bus, it's okay Mr. Healy," Holly cut in as she entered the kitchen with a bright smile. She grabbed a paper lunch sack out of the fridge and pecked her dad on the cheek. "Call me when you guys get to Lodi, okay?" With one last smile to her dad, she walked out the front door.  
  
Holland gulped down the rest of his coffee and stood up, itching his stomach. "Okay, I'm gonna get dressed and then we can head out." He wandered down the hall toward his room.  
  
Jackson nodded but did not turn around, still staring out the kitchen window.   
  
Ten minutes later Holland reappeared in the kitchen, fully dressed, small suitcase in one hand. "Just let me put some coffee in my thermos and then I'm ready to go." He sloppily poured the rest of the coffee he'd brewed that morning into a large thermos and screwed the lid on tight. "Okay, let's go," Holland smiled and clapped Jackson on the shoulder.  
  
They made their way out the door, Holland making sure the place was locked up, and Jackson leaned against the side of his car. Holland glanced up and frowned. "We're not taking my car?" he called from the front porch.  
  
"Considering the top no longer comes up since you did... whatever it was you did and won't tell me about, and we have to be on the freeway for at least five hours today, no, we are not taking your car." Jackson leveled a no-nonsense stare at Holland over his sunglasses.  
  
"Fine," Holland muttered as he walked down the driveway. "Pop the trunk," he instructed. Jackson walked around to the back of the car and opened the trunk. "Good, Holly free," Holland said as he tossed his suitcase in.   
  
Jackson shook his head. "She told you she had a book report due."  
  
"Better to be safe than sorry," Holland insisted as he slammed the trunk closed. "Okay, let's get going."   
  
The pair climbed into the car and made their way out of the neighborhood. It was silent as they made their way through the city, Jackson focused on the road and Holland focused on his thermos of coffee. As they pulled onto the freeway, Jackson nodded toward the dashboard in front of Holland and asked him to open the glove box. Holland complied and let the compartment fall open loudly. "What do you need?" he asked, leaning forward and peering into the glove box.  
  
"There should be a road map in there," Jackson explained.  
  
Holland rummaged through the small compartment. He pulled out a set of brass knuckles with wide eyes. "Is there anything that's going to, like, slice my fingers off or shoot me or some shit in here?" he asked, carefully poking at some old takeout menus.  
  
Jackson chuckled and glanced over at his passenger. "No, it's a glove box."  
  
Holland waved the brass knuckles at Jackson.   
  
"Those are harmless."  
  
Holland spluttered in disbelief.  
  
"I mean, they're harmless if they're just sitting in a glove box. They're not being used. Currently," Jackson argued.  
  
Holland shook his head and tossed the brass knuckles into the back seat. "Ah! Here. Road map of California," he declared triumphantly as he pulled the folded up map from the glove box. A second set of brass knuckles fell out of the map as Holland began to unfold it. "Really?" he shrieked in disbelief.   
  
"What? I used to rough people up. It would be like finding binoculars or a note pad in your glove box," Jackson reasoned with a shrug.  
  
"Good god," Holland exhaled loudly. "So is that bag in the back full of your clothes or is it, like, a portable armory?"  
  
Jackson sighed and rolled his eyes. "It's clothes, idiot."  
  
Holland rolled down his window and lit a cigarette. "Okay fine, just let me do the talking if we have to interact with anyone when we get there? I don't need you scaring off everyone in Lodi," Holland groused around a mouthful of cigarette smoke.   
  
"Scare em' off? What the hell do you mean?" Jackson shot him a quick, confused glance.  
  
"You can be a scary guy sometimes."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"You keep _two_ pairs of brass knuckles in your car"  
  
"That's not gonna scare anyone, no one knows they're there."  
  
"Shit, I was scared of you when we first met."  
  
"You were?"  
  
"You broke my arm!"  
  
"It was a spiral fracture."  
  
"What-the-fuck-ever. My arm was in a cast and it hurt. Very much! Like 'top-ten most painful things I've ever had happen to me physically' kind of pain. And the cast was uncomfortable and I hated it."  
  
"I'm sorry," Jackson mumbled sincerely.  
  
Holland stared at him, mouth hanging open slightly. "Thank you," he whispered back finally.   
  
Jackson gripped the steering wheel tight. "You know that wasn't... I would never do that again. It wasn't --"  
  
"No, I know," Holland reassured quietly.  
  
They drove for over forty-five minutes in silence after that. It was only once Jackson got fed up with the road noise that he flicked the radio on and voices filled the car again. Holland said nothing, just slid down farther in the passenger seat. Jackson wanted to say something, anything, to diffuse the tension between them. Mostly because the idea of four more hours in the car not speaking was Jackson's idea of hell, but also because he hated the awkwardness that had settled between him and Holland. He had no idea what to say though, so he continued to grip the steering wheel and stare out the windshield.  
  
It was Holland who finally broke the silence. "Could we stop soon and grab something for lunch?" he asked quietly as he shifted in his seat to face Jackson.   
  
"I actually packed some ham and cheese sandwiches and chips," Jackson motioned to the back seat, "they're in a little cooler back there. Thought it would save us some time."  
  
Holland unbuckled his seat belt and turned around to reach into the back of the car. He found the small cooler on the floor of the back seat and hauled it up front. "I only had a bowl of Apple Jacks for breakfast this morning and I'm starving." He slid the small cooler open and pulled out a sandwich wrapped in wax paper and a bag of chips. He unwrapped the sandwich quickly and took a bite. "This is good, thanks."  
  
"Sure," Jackson mumbled as he kept his eyes on the road.  
  
"You want one?" Holland asked as he pulled another sandwich out of the cooler and waved it near Jackson's head.  
  
"I'm good for now."  
  
Holland put the sandwich back in the cooler and maneuvered it back into the back seat. "You want some chips then?" he asked, shaking the open bag of chips at Jackson. He reached over and plucked a chip from the bag. Holland smiled. "So... do we have a game plan for when we get to Lodi?" he asked casually before popping a chip in his mouth.  
  
"Well, I did some reading last night about the area and there's a lake up there. Seems to be kind of a hang out place. I thought it would be a good enough place to start. I mean, if you're going to meet someone you'd pick a landmark or something right?," Jackson glanced at Holland and shrugged. "So if John is out there to meet people to sell some pot? He'd probably go to a place that was easy to find and where you wouldn't draw attention to yourself." He reached over and stole another chip from Holland and smiled.  
  
"Well, well, well, look at you, doing some real private eye work. Sounds like a solid plan. We have his license plate number too. We can look for his truck while we're out there." Holland crunched loudly on a chip and laughed. "Maybe we'll get lucky and we'll only have to be in Lodi for like an hour."  
  
Jackson chuckled. "Don't get too optimistic."  
  
They fell into a more comfortable silence after that, Jackson stealing a chip now and then from the bag in Holland's lap. It wasn't long after the bag had been emptied that Holland dozed off, sport coat tucked under his head. Jackson smiled to himself as he looked over at his sleeping partner. Holland looked so calm and peaceful in his sleep. Jackson fought the urge to reach over and brush the blonde's hair out of his eyes. He pressed his foot down on the gas peddle a bit harder, hoping to make it to Lodi quickly without doing something stupid like tenderly caressing his business partner. 

* * *

Jackson leaned over Holland through the open passenger-side car door and shook his shoulder gently. Holland stirred in his sleep and yawned. "Hey, wake up," Jackson whispered through an amused smile.   
  
Holland sat up slowly and looked around in a daze. "Where are we?" he asked as he stretched his arms.   
  
"We're at the lake, man," Jackson laughed.   
  
Holland whipped his head around and stared out the windshield. They were, in fact, at a lake. "We're in Lodi?"   
  
Jackson hummed in confirmation.   
  
"Why'd you let me sleep the whole way?" Holland asked, smoothing out his tie.  
  
"You didn't wake up when I pulled over in Fresno to have lunch and take a piss so I figured you needed the sleep," Jackson explained nonchalantly.  
  
Holland flung his legs out of the car and Jackson backed up. "How long have we been here?" Holland asked as he climbed out of the car and stared out at the lake.   
  
"Just got here."  
  
"So no chance I slept through you solving the whole case and we can go home?"  
  
"Afraid not."  
  
Holland nodded slowly as he fished his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He deftly lit a one and took a long drag. "So... should we walk around a bit, see if we can spot this guy or his truck?"  
  
Jackson held his hands out in front of him. "Lead the way."  
  
Holland rolled his eyes and began strolling around the lake. "You know, it's actually pretty nice here," he mused as he took in the landscape around him.  
  
"What exactly were you expecting?" Jackson chuckled.  
  
"I don't know," Holland shrugged, "Not a scenic little lake and picnic tables."  
  
Jackson shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around the lake. "It is pretty nice," he agreed. "I can see why people hang out here."  
  
They walked along slowly, side by side, scanning the area and the faces of the people there for any sign of John Porter. The sun shone brightly, hanging high in the afternoon sky, and warmed the lake pleasantly. The water was a calming shade of blue. People of all ages gathered to play in the water and enjoy some down-time out in nature. Holland smiled as he spotted a girl about Holly's age trying to share her sandwich with some ducks.   
  
"We could bring Holly here sometime. She'd probably love it," Holland said as he blew a steady stream of smoke from his lips.   
  
"Yeah, she would," Jackson agreed, ignoring the odd feeling in his chest at the suggestion.   
  
They walked along in silence for a while longer before Jackson spotted a man not far off. "That guy looks familiar, doesn't he?" he whispered as he nudged Holland with his elbow.  
  
Holland looked over to where Jackson had nodded and caught sight of a middle-aged man pacing back-and-forth near a large tree. He furrowed his brows and pulled his sunglasses off. "I think that's the guy who owns the surf shop John works at."  
  
"The Wave?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah. What was his name?"  
  
"Tom, wasn't it?"  
  
They walked off in the direction of the man and got within about thirty feet before Holland stopped in his tracks. "I think that's John's truck," he said, squinting into the parking lot just beyond the large tree the man was pacing in front of.   
  
"How do you figure?" Jackson asked.  
  
"I spent all night staring at this," Holland explained as he pulled the piece of paper with John's license plate number on it out of his pocket. He glanced at the paper and then over at the beige truck he was eyeing. "It's totally his truck."  
  
"I don't see John though. You have that picture the fiancé gave you?" Jackson scanned the lake carefully.   
  
Holland dug into his pockets again and procured the small photo Cheryl had given them. A young man with sandy blonde hair and freckles smiled up at them from the photo. "He's not here," he said as he inspected the photo and looked around the lake.   
  
"So what's Tom doing here? I thought John was supposed to be selling the pot _for_ him. Doesn't him being here defeat the purpose of having a middle-man?"  
  
Suddenly, Tom stopped pacing and walked briskly to a pay phone. He quickly dialed a number and began whispering into the receiver. Before Jackson and Holland could get any closer to listen in on the call,  
Tom hung up and headed for the parking lot. He pulled keys from his pocket, unlocked John's truck, and jumped in.  
  
"Shit," Holland hissed as they watched Tom pull out of the parking lot. He and Jackson sped-walked back to Jackson's car and took off immediately. They were able to catch up, just barely, as Tom made a right and headed toward the freeway. "Fuck, do you think he's gonna get on ninety-nine?" Holland asked, voice high-pitched and anxious.   
  
The truck turned into a parking lot just down the road from the freeway entrance and Holland and Jackson both sighed in relief. "It's a motel," Jackson surmised as they passed by the lot. "I'll circle back and we can check it out."  
  
They stumbled into the motel lobby, Holland pulling on his wrinkled sport coat, Jackson leaning over to light the blonde's cigarette as they walked. "Can I help you gentlemen?" a young woman called from behind a long counter at the rear of the lobby.   
  
Holland sauntered over to the counter and leaned against it. "You wouldn't happen to have any available rooms, would you?" he asked with a wide grin. The woman behind the counter started flipping through the large reservation book, chewing gum loudly as she scanned its pages.  
  
"I don't see him. He must have a room here," Jackson whispered as he sidled up alongside Holland at the counter. The young woman gave him a quick, curious glance and he shot her a tight smile in return.   
  
"So, one bed okay?" the young woman asked flatly.   
  
Holland's face went white. "No!" he barked. He smoothed out his tie again and calmed himself. "I mean, no thank you. We'd like separate beds. Please."  
  
"We only have the one room with the one bed though, sir," the woman explained, spinning the reservation book around so Holland could see it.   
  
"You only have one room available? Here? In Lodi? You've got one room with one bed?" Holland rambled.  
  
"That's fine," Jackson reassured the young woman and shot Holland a warning glance. "Whatever you have will be fine. Thank you."  
  
Holland rolled his eyes and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. "Fine, but I get the bed since I'm paying. This is great. I'm _literally_ stuck in Lodi. My life is a fuckin' Creedence Clearwater Revival song. Beautiful." He handed over some cash to the woman behind the counter with a grimace.  
  
It was Jackson's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm going to go get our bags."  
  
"We're in room eight," Holland called after him, jangling the room key.  
  
Jackson didn't say anything and ducked out the front door, back into the parking lot. Holland contemplated rejoining him in the parking lot and then thought better of it. He didn't want to say something and end up in a fight. So he strolled through the lobby and out the back door that lead to the open air corridor where the rooms were. The door on room eight stuck, of course, and Holland grimaced as he opened it up.  
  
After a few minutes, Jackson walked up behind Holland, their bags in hand, and stood behind him in the doorway. "What's wrong?" he asked as he glanced around the room.  
  
"It looks like mold threw up in here," Holland groused as he took in the small room, everything dull shades of green and brown. Even the blinds were a muddy color.   
  
Jackson shrugged as he squeezed into the room past Holland who was still rooted in the doorway, a deep frown etched on his face somewhere beneath his unkempt facial hair. "Doesn't have to be pretty, ain't like we're on vacation or anything," Jackson offered, tossing their bags down beside a desk.  
  
"Still, this is kind of a shit shack." Holland gestured vaguely around the room. "It looks like the inside of swamp."  
  
"Look, it'll be fine, okay. Hopefully we won't have to be here that long anyway."  
  
Holland scrunched his face up as he looked around once more and groaned. Jackson knew, deep down, that Holland's distaste for the room had little to do with the color scheme. The place was hideous to be sure, but he knew the real issue was the single, solitary queen sized bed looming like a proverbial green and brown elephant in the middle of the room.   
  
"I can sleep in the chair," Jackson offered placatingly, patting the over-stuffed armchair tucked into a corner of the room.   
  
Holland stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray on one of the night stands and loosened his tie. "I need a drink," he groused as he slid the tie from around his neck. "I think I spotted a bar across the street when we were coming in here."  
  
Jackson dropped down into the armchair and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We're working a case."  
  
"The bar is _across the street_. If the truck leaves we'll see it."  
  
"We won't be able to see who's in it, though. I mean, shit, John Porter could be sitting in the room Tom disappeared into. And we don't even know what room that is!"  
  
Holland collapsed onto the bed and sighed. "I scanned the reservation book when the woman showed it to me. There are only ten rooms here, and all but ours and one other room are occupied by couples or groups. Room four is occupied by one 'J. Porter'." Holland kicked his shoes off petulantly and swung his legs up onto the mattress. "All we gotta do is knock on the door, pretend to be looking for someone who can jump-start our car, and see if John's sitting in there."  
  
"Huh," Jackson huffed as he leaned back in the armchair. "That could actually work."  
  
"I'm a pretty good fuckin' P.I. How many times do I have to tell you that?" Holland complained. He rolled over onto his side and glared at Jackson.  
  
Jackson laid his head back against the armchair and squeezed his eyes shut. The last thing he wanted was to get into some petty argument with Holland in a shitty motel in fucking Lodi. "We'll do your plan about needing to jump-start the car and then go to the bar across the street," he relented. "You call Holly?"  
  
"Shit!" Holland screeched, flying off the bed, limbs flailing wildly. 

* * *

The bar was dimly lit, not a window to speak of, virtually empty, and filled with smoke. An old jukebox filled the place with music. It was the kind of place Holland loved. He was slouched down in a corner booth at the little dive, plate of half-eaten pizza in front of him. Empty glasses littered the table. "Should we order another round?" Holland asked, taking a small bite of his pizza.  
  
"No," Jackson grunted from the other end of the curved booth. He'd only had two drinks and he wasn't even going to entertain the idea of a third. "We still have shit to do tomorrow. John wasn't in that room. We gotta find him." Jackson shoved his empty plate away from himself and stretched his legs out under the table. His foot bumped Holland's. The blonde smiled lazily and nudged Jackson's foot back with his own. Jackson said nothing, deciding to let himself indulge in a tiny amount of intimacy for a moment. "Was Holly mad when you called?" he asked casually.   
  
Holland wiped his mouth on a thin bar napkin and shook his head gently. "Nah, she was okay. She'd just finished her homework. Said her and Jessica were going to bake a cake." He grinned and tossed the napkin on the table. "She's a pretty great kid."  
  
Jackson bumped Holland's foot lightly with his. "Yeah," he agreed, a languid smile on his face. "You're both pretty great."  
  
Holland's eyebrows shot up. " _Both_ , huh?"  
  
"Yeah. You're not half-bad as a business partner. Not a terrible friend, either." Jackson picked nervously at his napkin. The rum in system emboldened him and he rubbed his foot against Holland's ankle.  
  
Holland frowned suddenly and rested his forearms on the table. "You ever feel like... like you're not allowed to be happy?"   
  
Jackson froze.   
  
"Like, even when you _do_ feel happy, you feel guilty about it 'cause you _shouldn't_ be allowed to be happy?" Holland rambled on.  
  
Jackson scooted closer to his partner in their shared booth and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. "What do you mean?" he asked quietly, leaning his head in near Holland's.  
  
"I've fucked up a lot in my life. Done shit that I'd change if I could. I don't know. I just... Maybe I don't deserve to be happy. So I try to keep myself from being happy, you know? Even if I want to be." Holland slumped down farther in the booth and shrugged.  
  
Jackson's thumb traced a gentle path on the back of Holland's neck and he sighed. "I know you feel like you've got a lot of guilt to cart around for the rest of your life, but you shouldn't. For Holly's sake. For your sake. You're not a bad man, Holland."  
  
The old jukebox clinking and whirring as it changed records was the only sound in the place for a moment. A few notes spilled out of the speakers and then Elvis' smooth voice followed, crooning out _It's Now Or Never_. Jackson didn't know whether he should thank or curse god.   
  
Holland raised his head and met Jackson's nervous gaze. He swallowed thickly as he stared at the older man, the song playing on in the background. "I'm gettin' kinda tired," he whispered. "I should head back to the room." He didn't move.  
  
Jackson patted Holland on the back and nodded. He slid slowly out of the booth and then reached out, offering assistance to Holland. Jackson slapped a few bills down on the table and began wrangling his partner out of the bar and into the balmy night. They somehow made it across the street and back to their motel without incident.   
  
Jackson propped Holland up against the wall outside their door and reached into his coat pockets. He sighed when he couldn't find the room key. "Please tell me you have the key."  
  
Holland grinned crookedly and patted his right pants pocket. "How bad you want it?"  
  
"Come on, March, cut the shit. Give me the key," Jackson demanded.  
  
Holland laughed and backed away slightly, still leaning against the wall. "You gotta come get it." He patted his pocket again.  
  
Jackson reached over and jerked Holland closer. "Un-fuckin-believable," he grumbled as he reached into Holland's pocket. He snatched the room key out and shook his head, quickly unlocking the door. He made his way inside and held the door open, Holland stumbling in after him. Jackson locked the door and turned around to find himself face to face with a pouting Holland March. He stared back, unamused.  
  
"I'm sorry," Holland mumbled as he reached out and laid his hands on Jackson's chest. "Don't be mad. I'm sorry." He inhaled deeply and crept closer, resting his head against Jackson's shoulder. They stood in silence for a while, both unsure where to go from there. Eventually, Holland began humming, nuzzling his nose in closer to Jackson's throat.  
  
Jackson immediately recognized _It's Now Or Never_ as Holland hummed it and wanted to simultaneously go bash the shit out of the ancient jukebox back at the bar, and put in an offer to buy it. Gently, he reached up and pushed Holland back enough so that he could see his face. "You should lie down," he whispered.  
  
Holland melted back into Jackson's space and kissed him instead, his lips gentle and soft against Jackson's. He moaned as he wound his arms up around Jackson's neck and pushed him against the door. Jackson's hands tentatively gripped Holland's hips.  
  
It wasn't until Holland bit his lower lip that Jackson's brain finally kicked into gear. Carefully, he pushed Holland away and exhaled roughly. Holland looked at him, fear in his eyes. "Hey, hey, no, I'm not mad," Jackson reassured, "but you're drunk and... I've had a few. We shouldn't do this now."  
  
Holland pouted as Jackson pushed him back even farther into the room. "See... not allowed to be happy," he groused as Jackson backed him up against the mattress.   
  
Jackson felt his heart break a little and turned away from his partner for a moment to collect himself. He spotted a pen on the nightstand and grabbed it, popping the cap off. He took Holland's hand in his own and began writing on the soft skin between his thumb and index finger. Holland shot him a confused look. Jackson capped the pen and tossed it back on the nightstand. "Can we talk about all this tomorrow? When we're both sober?" he asked, voice raw and low.   
  
Holland flopped back against the pillows and released a ragged breath. "I'm sorry," he mumbled again.   
  
Jackson reached down and loosened Holland's tie. "Get some sleep," he instructed as he slipped the tie from around Holland's neck.   
  
Holland grunted and rolled over, hiding his face in a pillow. Jackson resisted the urge to lie down on the mattress beside Holland and made his way to the armchair in the corner.

* * *

Holland woke up lying on his stomach tangled in stiff, cheap green sheets. The pillow his head rested on was damp with sweat and his tongue felt like it had grown its own mustache in the night. In all, it wasn't the worst way he'd ever woken up. He was at least indoors and wearing underwear. He rolled over onto his back and groaned, tossing his forearm over his eyes to block the sunlight that was spilling in through the blinds.   
  
The events of the night before were murky at best but he was sure they were soaked in something spiced rum flavored, judging by the stale taste of his breath. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and just barely caught sight of a black smudge on his skin. Slowly, he pulled his hand from his face and squinted. The words ' _you're allowed to be happy_ ' were scrawled in black ink between his thumb and index finger in thick letters that he definitely didn't write.  
  
The phone ringing loudly on the nightstand interrupted any train of thought Holland had conjured up. He flung his arm off the bed and groped wildly for the receiver. The ringing finally stopped echoing through the small room and Holland jerked the clunky brown receiver to his ear. "What?" he groaned.  
  
"Get up," Jackson commanded through the phone.  
  
Holland glared. "Who says I'm not up already?"  
  
"The rum I can still smell on your breath through the phone," Jackson replied flatly.  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
"I'm at the diner up the street. Get up. Some interesting people just showed up."  
  
The dull 'click' of Jackson hanging up ended the call. Holland tossed the phone receiver on the floor and shimmied himself into a seated position on the mattress. He grabbed his cigarettes off the nightstand and lit one, taking a long drag into his lungs as he looked around the room for his pants. They were tossed over the back of the armchair. He didn't remember how they got there but he had bigger things to worry about. Namely, that his partner seemed to be onto something. Also, that he seemed very irritated which probably had something to do with Holland's complete lack of recall regarding the previous night.   
  
He shrugged as he pushed himself off the bed and snatched his navy blue pants off the back of the roughly upholstered armchair. Nearly tripping over the phone cord, he hopped through the room pulling his pants on. He shoved his feet in his shoes, finally hung the phone up, snatched his sunglasses off the table by the door and headed out into the unrelenting California sunshine.   
  
Holland made the short trek up the street and found the diner Jackson called him from. The place was pretty standard as far as little diners went. Large windows revealed a cramped place decked out in maroon vinyl seating and checkered linoleum floors, waitresses with up-do's weaving their way through tables. He pushed the door open and spotted Jackson at a booth in the back corner. He still had on the same light-blue shirt he'd worn the day before, his reading glasses perched on his nose as he skimmed over a paper. Holland always loved when Jackson wore his reading glasses. He shook his head immediately. It was not the time for that train of thought.  
  
Holland plopped himself down into the seat across from Jackson. He barely glanced up over his reading glasses at Holland before he went back to scanning the paper. A waitress came over quickly and Holland asked for some black coffee and toast with a sweet smile.  
  
Jackson finally folded the paper and pulled his reading glasses from his face. "Over there, just past the front door," he said as he nodded at something behind Holland.   
  
Holland's face scrunched up in confusion. "What the fuck are you talking about?"  
  
Jackson grabbed his mug off the table and took a sip of piping hot coffee. "That's Tom," he explained as he nodded back at the table, "and those men joined him about ten minutes after he got here."  
  
Their waitress returned then with Holland's coffee. He thanked her and, after she had walked away, he slid his spoon onto the floor. It clattered noisily on the linoleum and he glanced backwards at the table Jackson had pointed out as he stooped over to grab the silverware. "Yeah that's Tom. I don't see John there, though," he mumbled as he straightened up in the booth.   
  
Jackson just blinked from across the table. Holland took a gulp of his coffee and winced. It was hotter than he'd expected. He grabbed a few creamers from a bowl on the table and emptied them into his mug. "So, how'd you know to look here?" he asked as he took another experimental sip of his coffee.  
  
"I saw him leaving his room this morning on foot so I followed him," Jackson replied simply.  
  
Holland nodded slowly. "Did you, like, watch his room all night through the window?" he asked in disbelief.   
  
Jackson tilted his head to the side and shrugged. "Not all night, but from the time I got up, yeah."  
  
Holland chugged the rest of his coffee and waved the waitress over for a refill. "So he comes here, takes a seat, and then three other guys who are _not_ John show up and join him?" Jackson just nodded. Their waitress refilled both of their coffees with a smile and placed a heaping plateful of toast between them. Holland snatched a piece off the plate and tore into it. "I'm starving," he mumbled around the bread, Tom and John and the entire case forgotten. "You want some?" he asked, sliding the plate at Jackson.   
  
"I already ordered an omelet," Jackson stated simply.  
  
Holland inhaled deeply and slid the plate of toast back in his direction. His partner was definitely irritated with him, that much was sure, he just didn't know if he wanted to find out why. Jackson's omelet arrived shortly, Holland ordered one for himself, and the two men fell into an awkward silence.   
  
Holland dumped some more creamer into his fresh cup of coffee before he finally decided to speak. "Look, I can tell you're kind of irritated with me. And I just wanted to say... I'm sorry for whatever stupid, moronic, out of line thing I said last night. Okay?" He silently prayed that would be the end of it and they could move on.   
  
"You don't remember _anything_ from last night?" Jackson inquired, a sad lilt to his words.  
  
Holland panicked and tried to summon up any event from the previous night in his memory. "Did we listen to an Elvis song?"  
  
Jackson shifted anxiously in his seat and said nothing.   
  
Holland squinted into his coffee mug and continued trying to piece together the night before. "The little bar, it had a jukebox. And we had pizza and rum. And there was definitely a song --" he trailed off and his eyes went wide. "Shit," he hissed, "I kissed you." Jackson took a deep breath leaned forward, as if he was preparing to speak, but Holland cut him off. "You kissed me back," he whispered in shock. "Why didn't I have any pants on when I woke up?"  
  
Jackson raised his hands defensively. "You woke up in the middle of the night and kicked them off and then tossed them on the armchair. That I happened to be sleeping in, thanks for that by the way."  
  
"So we didn't --" Holland trailed off and made some vague hand gestures.  
  
"No, no. We didn't... I knew you were pretty drunk so I just put you to bed."  
  
Holland sat in stunned silence as he stared across the table at Jackson. He'd drunkenly done what he'd thought about doing for months and because Jackson _was_ just as decent and amazing as Holland thought he was, he'd simply tucked Holland into bed and toughed it out on a shitty armchair for the night. He wanted to scream from the emotional weight of it all. He lit a cigarette instead.   
  
"Did you only kiss me back 'cause you were drunk?" Holland whispered at last, smoke wafting from his lips, heart pounding in his chest.   
  
"I don't know," Jackson said and then immediately wished he could take it back. "I mean not really? I just... Jesus, could we not do this here?" he glanced around the diner, "This isn't really where I wanted to have this conversation."  
  
Holland took another long drag off his cigarette and squeezed his eyes shut. "Goddamnit I really fucked this all up, didn't I?" he breathed as he leaned back in the booth.  
  
Jackson couldn't help himself, he reached over and covered Holland's hand with his own. He rubbed his thumb over the words he'd scrawled on the blonde's hand the night before. "You didn't fuck everything up. We just... we gotta talk about it. But not here."  
  
Their waitress returned and served Holland his omelet. He stared at it blankly, trying to figure out if he could even eat anymore.   
  
"Eat. You're hungover as shit and you need food," Jackson encouraged. He continued to rub a gentle path over Holland's hand with his thumb.  
  
Holland gave him a watery smile and began eating. "What do we do about John?" he asked after a few bites.  
  
"I think we gotta have a chat with Tom at this point."  
  
Jackson and Holland finished their breakfasts in relative silence, paid their tab, and followed Tom back to the motel. He ducked back into his room alone Holland cleared his throat pointedly as the man shut his room door. Jackson took notice and nodded, unlocking their own room as he looked around.   
  
"Should we give it a few? Make sure no one else shows up?" Jackson mumbled as he stepped into their small room.   
  
Holland trailed in after, nodding. "Yeah. Sounds good." He threw himself down on the bed and sighed.   
  
Jackson took a seat in the armchair and stared out the window at Tom's door. He scratched the back of his neck and turned his focus to Holland. "So, you know I'm not, like, pissed at you. Right?" He winced as he waited for an answer.  
  
Holland rolled over on the bed and watched Jackson for a moment. "You sure?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"So I don't have to find my own ride back? 'Cause I won't lie, I was a little worried you'd leave me here."  
  
"I'm not gonna leave you here. I just... Why'd you kiss me last night?"  
  
Holland pulled himself up and sat cross legged on the bed facing Jackson. He plucked a cigarette from his pack and slipped it between his lips. "I'm sorta into you, man," he admitted with a shrug, smoke rolling from his mouth. He prayed to god he came across more casual and confident than he felt, because he definitely felt like he was going to hurl and then maybe pass out. "You're a good guy, you love Holly, you take care of us and... I'm a coward and scared of ever feeling even the slightest bit of happiness for myself so... I never said anything." He offered Jackson a watery smile. "Guess I just got lost in rum and pizza and Elvis and _fuckin' Lodi_ and I just... went for it."  
  
Jackson stared at him, silent, his mouth hanging open a bit.  
  
The knot in Holland's stomach tightened. "Fuck," he hissed. "Say something. Shit, come over here and break my arm again. Just don't --"  
  
"Maybe I... got lost too. But I didn't regret it." Jackson interrupted. "And I'm not breaking your arm ever again, you idiot. I already told you that."  
  
Holland smiled, relieved and a little giddy. "So what are you saying? Do you have a crush on me, Jackson Healy?" he teased.  
  
Jackson rolled his eyes. "I don't know why," he muttered, "You're an moron." He took a deep breath as he realized he'd all but confirmed to Holland that he had feelings for him.   
  
"A very charming moron, thank you," Holland said seriously. "A moron you have a crush on," he added, a sly smirk on his face.   
  
Jackson sighed deeply over in his armchair.   
  
"Sorry, I'm sorry," Holland giggled, trying to compose himself. "I just forgot what it feels like to be this happy. It's weird. A good weird, but it's weird. You have a crush on me." He giggled again.  
  
Jackson finally rose from the armchair and stepped over into Holland's space. "You're happy?" he asked, voice raw and small. Holland nodded. Jackson shut his eyes and smiled as he leaned down and pressed his lips tentatively against Holland's temple. "Then I'm happy," he whispered against Holland's skin.  
  
Holland smiled up at Jackson and wrapped his arms around his neck. "You wanna make me _really_ happy?" he whispered in Jackson's ear, waggling his eyebrows.   
  
Jackson shook his head and chuckled. "Unbelievable," he muttered, a wide grin on his face. "We're still working a case, remember? We're _supposed_ to be watching Tom."  
  
"So after then?" Holland countered with a laugh.   
  
Jackson placed his hand in the center of Holland's chest and pushed him away gently. "Finish the case and we'll see," he taunted with a playful laugh.   
  
Holland's mouth fell open in bemused awe and his eyes went wide. Quickly, he swung his legs off the bed and marched over to the door. He pulled it open forcefully and waited in the doorway. "Well, let's go. Come on."  
  
Jackson chuckled, sauntering over to the door. "Pretty eager all of a sudden."  
  
"Well now I'm properly motivated," Holland laughed, patting Jackson on the ass as he walked through the door.

* * *

Holland knocked forcefully on the door of room four and waited. He rocked back and forth on his heels and shot Jackson a playful glance. Jackson rolled his eyes. The door opened just a crack and a man peeked out.  
  
"Hey there, neighbor," Holland chuckled, "Sorry to bother you again, we were just wondering if you happened to know of any auto shops around here."  
  
Tom stared at them from inside his motel room. "You guys still didn't get your car running, huh?" He opened the door a little wider and looked out. "I'm sorry, man, but I'm not from around here. I don't know --"   
  
Jackson cut him off by pushing the door open abruptly and barging in the room. Tom yelped as he was roughly pushed back into his room. Holland followed calmly and shut the door behind him.  
  
"At lease we know we aren't the only ones with an ugly room," Holland remarked as he glanced around the room. "Who told them these colors went together?"  
  
"Can we discuss interior design some other time?" Jackson barked as he backed Tom into an all too familiar armchair in the corner of the room.   
  
Tom winced as he plopped down into the chair. "Look, I told you guys! I am going to get the rest today! I have another guy driving up right now!" He raised his arms in front of his face, preparing for the worst.  
  
Jackson shot Holland a confused glance. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked gruffly.  
  
"Aren't you guys from Humboldt?"   
  
"No. Cheryl Scott hired us to find her fiancé --"  
  
"John Porter," Tom interrupted, tone serious.   
  
Jackson loomed over Tom in the armchair and fixed him with an intimidating glare.  
  
"Tell us where John is, or I'll go get his brass knuckles," Holland offered, pointing at Jackson.   
  
"Look, hey, Johnny's a friend, man. I didn't want anything to happen to him. I fucked up. That's why I'm here. I'm trying to fix it." Tom's gaze darted between Holland and Jackson nervously.   
  
"Start from the beginning," Jackson demanded as he stepped away from the armchair and sat down on the foot of the bed. Holland strutted over and plopped down beside him, brushing some lint off the hideous brown comforter.   
  
"Either one of you got a smoke by any chance?" Tom mumbled. Holland sighed and passed a cigarette to the brunette man. "Johnny works at my surf shop in L.A." Tom explained as he lit his cigarette.  
  
"We know," Holland said flatly.   
  
"He sells a little pot on the side for me. I wasn't trying to get him into any shit or anything. He was just looking to make a little extra money for his wedding, I was tired of driving all over every-other week, it all seemed good." Tom sighed heavily and smoke curled from his lips. "Anyway, everything was going fine for a long time but I guess... I guess I fucked up the last time I portioned out the pot and shit and Johnny showed up here short on product. The guys from Humboldt got pissed, took off with him, and called me demanding the rest of the pot. Said they'd bring Johnny back here when they got their shit."  
  
Jackson leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "So... you came up here to meet the guys from Humboldt, give them the pot you shorted them, and get John back?"  
  
"Yes! I didn't mean to short them on their shit either. Honest. I wouldn't do that to Johnny. He's my friend, man." Tom leaned back in the armchair and shut his eyes.  
  
"How'd you get his room key and his truck keys?" Jackson demanded.  
  
"I have a spare set to his truck, just in case. I found the room key in the glove box."  
  
"You said you had someone coming up here with the rest of the pot, when are they supposed to arrive?" Holland asked.  
  
"Any time now. Brent left at, like, five a.m. today," Tom sighed.   
  
Jackson checked his watch and nodded. "Okay, it's nine-thirty now. Do you have _any_ idea where the Humboldt guys took John? Have you talked to him at all since the last time you saw him?"  
  
"I talked to him yesterday. He said they were somewhere in between here and Humboldt. They haven't done anything to him, I guess they just took him as a place holder. Until they could get the rest of their pot."   
  
"Perfect. So what you're telling us is that John is fine and that you'll have him back any time now. So our case is essentially solved." Holland leaned back on the mattress and waggled his eyebrows at Jackson.   
  
Jackson glowered at Holland. "We aren't done until we lay eyes on John and we know he's back on his way to L.A."  
  
Holland visibly deflated and sighed. "Fine."  
  
A knock on the door startled all three men. Tom jumped out of the armchair and pried the door open a tiny bit. He sighed loudly in relief and opened the door wide. "Brent, shit, get in here. You have the pot?"  
  
Holland and Jackson immediately recognized the newcomer as the employee from the surf shop they had talked to before. They waved at him as he was ushered into the room. He waved back in confusion and handed Tom a paper grocery bag. "It's all in there. I double checked and then I had Ronnie check again just to be sure," Brent explained.   
  
"Stellar work, Brent," Holland snarked from his spot on the bed. Jackson nudged him hard in the side. "Ow," Holland pouted.   
  
Tom peeked into the paper bag and nodded. "Perfect. Head back to L.A. okay? I'll be back in a little while with Johnny." With that, Brent exited the small motel room and Tom shut the door. "I have a number I'm supposed to call when I have the pot," Tom said as he made his way to the phone on the nightstand. "I can't believe this is all, like, gonna be over."  
  
"What do you want to do first to celebrate?" Holland asked Jackson through a mischievous grin. Jackson did his absolute best to ignore him.  
  
The phone call between Tom and his Humboldt connection didn't last long and he explained with a thankful smile that John would be returned back to room four at the tiny motel in Lodi in an hour. Holland had nodded slowly, promised Tom they would return in an hour to make sure everything went according to plan, and motioned for Jackson to follow him. Together, they walked back to their own ugly motel room.  
  
Holland all but threw himself at Jackson as soon as their room door was closed. "Case solved. Make me the happiest man on Earth," he laughed loudly as he wrapped his arms around Jackson's neck.  
  
"We don't have enough time."  
  
"We have an hour."  
  
"That's not enough time for what I had planned."  
  
Holland went red to the tips of his toes. "That's the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me," he said with an amused laugh.   
  
Jackson backed Holland farther into the room, until the backs of Holland's knees hit the bed and he sank down onto the mattress. "I may know of a few ways we could kill an hour though," he whispered in Holland's ear. He reached down and started undoing Holland's belt.   
  
"I was going to say that this case was very anticlimactic, but I guess I'd be wrong," Holland quipped as he leaned back on his elbows and let Jackson pull his belt from around his waist.   
  
Jackson sunk down onto his knees between Holland's legs. "Shut up," he chuckled as he started undoing the buttons on his own shirt.   
  
Holland bit his bottom lip and laid out flat on the mattress. 

* * *

An hour and ten minutes later, Holland and Jackson made it back to room four. Tom waved them inside quickly. Jackson reached over and discreetly smoothed some of Holland's hair back into place. The blonde shot him a sly grin as they both sat down on the foot of the bed once again. They hadn't been there long before there was a loud knock on the door. Tom dashed across the room and pried it open.   
  
Tom passed the paper bag through the open door before a young, slim man was shoved into the room. The door shut loudly and Tom began laughing, clapping the young man on the shoulder.   
  
"John Porter?" Holland asked as he leaned forward, looking at the new guy.   
  
"Who the hell are they? Tom, you promised you didn't owe anyone else!"  
  
"I don't! They're private eyes. Cheryl hired em'."  
  
Jackson and Holland smiled and waved.   
  
"Yeah, I'm John Porter. Cheryl really hired you guys?"  
  
"She did. She's been really worried. You're probably going to have to tell her, you know, about all this," Jackson suggested, gesturing around the motel room.   
  
"'Cause if you don't, we kinda have to." Holland shrugged. "She paid us so we're, like, obligated to tell her all the details."   
  
John sighed and dropped down into the armchair. "I should have just told her in the first place," he mumbled, holding his head in his hands.  
  
"Probably," Holland said as he stood up. "We're going to go call her now though, let her know you're okay and we know where you are."  
  
John just nodded.  
  
Jackson nodded at John and Tom and followed Holland out of the room. As soon as they made it back to their room, Holland was on the phone, reassuring Cheryl they'd found John and he would be home soon. Jackson could hear her thanking Holland profusely though the phone. He smiled and started packing up the few things he had out in the room.   
  
Holland hung the phone up and laid out on the bed. "So, case is very much solved, we are very much getting a bonus payment when we get back to L.A. and we have much more than an hour at our disposal now." He folded his arms behind his head and smirked at Jackson.  
  
"You call Holly and tell her we solved it?" Jackson asked, shoving Holland's socks into his suitcase.  
  
"Fuck," Holland gasped as he rolled over and snatched the phone off the nightstand.   
  
Jackson chuckled. "I'm gonna go settle up at the front desk and then we'll get outta here. Sound good?"  
  
Holland just nodded in response, phone receiver tucked between his ear and shoulder.   
  
Twenty minutes later, Jackson was pulling out of the parking lot of the little motel. He glanced over to the passenger seat and gave Holland sweet smile as they pulled onto the highway. To his surprise, Holland reached over and took his hand, lacing their fingers together.   
  
"What do you want to tell Holly when we get back?" Jackson asked as they cruised along.   
  
"I kinda already mentioned when I called that we were going to have to talk when we got back but... other than that I don't know." Holland laid his head back on the seat, still holding Jackson's hand.   
  
Jackson hummed thoughtfully. "You want to talk to her together or just on your own?"  
  
"We can do it together. If you're up to it," Holland smiled, jostling their linked hands.  
  
"Yeah, I'm game."  
  
Holland leaned over and kissed Jackson's temple. "Good, 'cause I'm too chicken to do it on my own anyway."  
  
Jackson chuckled and squeezed Holland's hand. It wasn't long before the gentle movement of the car combined with the warm sunshine coming through the windows lulled Holland into a peaceful sleep. Jackson sighed contentedly as he glanced over at Holland. The last few months had changed his life in ways he didn't think were possible anymore. It wasn't just Holland who was learning to be happy again. Jackson, too, had never thought he could find a sense of happiness or fulfillment again. To his surprise all it had taken was meeting a man and his teenaged daughter.  
  
Holland awoke to soft lips and scratchy facial hair being pressed against his forehead. He opened his eyes in time to see Jackson leaning over him. He hummed contentedly. "Lunch break?" he asked, as he stifled a yawn.  
  
"No, idiot, we're home." Jackson straightened up and backed out of the car, giving Holland a view of his own home through the windshield.   
  
"I slept all the way home?" Holland asked in disbelief.  
  
Jackson hauled Holland's suitcase out of the back of the car. "Sure did," he answered. "Give me the keys."  
  
Holland tossed him the house keys and slowly climbed out of the car. "It's nice to be back in L.A." he mused as he walked up behind Jackson at the front door. He rested his chin on Jackson's shoulder. "Back in my own bed. That we should christen," he whispered with a sly grin.   
  
Jackson pushed the front door open and turned around to face Holland. "Easy for you to say, you slept all the way home. I've been driving all day. I'm exhausted."  
  
Holland grabbed Jackson's hand and pulled him into the house. "Take a nap then," he urged as he lead Jackson to the couch.  
  
Jackson dropped Holland's suitcase on the floor and plopped down onto the couch. He stretched out onto his back and shut his eyes. "You're driving next time," he grunted as he shifted to get comfortable.   
  
"You sure about that?" Holland asked as he flopped down on top of Jackson.  
  
Jackson yelped and his eyes flew open. "I told you, I'm too tired, Holland," he sighed.   
  
Holland poked him in the side and laughed. "I heard you. Doesn't mean I can't resume my nap. With you this time."  
  
"Fine," Jackson sighed. He shifted a bit more and Holland ended up half on top of Jackson and half wedged against the back of the couch. He pillowed his head on Jackson's chest. Jackson wound one arm around Holland's waist and closed his eyes. He fell asleep in record time.   
  
The sound of the front door clicking shut woke Holland. Holly stood in the entryway, eyes wide as her gaze finally fell on the couch. "Shit," Holland hissed as he scrambled to get off the couch unsuccessfully.   
  
Jackson woke abruptly, a confused look on his face. "Oh Jesus," he rasped as he finally spotted Holly.  
  
"It's about time," Holly laughed as she set her backpack down on the entryway tile and strolled into the living room. "So does this mean Mr. Healy is gonna move in with us now?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.   
  
Jackson and Holland both struggled to find words.   
  
"Into the new house at least?" Holly pressed on.  
  
"We'll talk about it, honey," Holland said, reaching over and patting his daughter on the arm.   
  
"I gotta call Jessica. She'll never believe you guys _finally_ got together." Holly bounded off toward the kitchen with a wide smile. She snatched the phone off the wall and disappeared down the hall.  
  
"That was easy," Holland laughed as he rested his head on Jackson's chest again.  
  
Jackson pressed a gentle kiss to Holland's head. "We're still gonna have to have a real talk with her about this," he insisted gently.  
  
"I know," Holland said, lifting his head up. "But something tells me she's pretty okay with it." He pecked Jackson on the lips. "She already wants you to move in," he laughed, wide grin lighting up his face.  
  
Jackson sighed happily and ran his hands through Holland's shaggy hair. "I mean, it would save me some serious money," he laughed. "And I'd definitely have a shorter commute to pick your ass up."  
  
"You can pick my ass up now, if you'd like," Holland teased.  
  
Jackson poked him hard in the side. "Unbelievable," he chuckled.  
  
Holly walked back into the living room then, smiling from ear to ear. "So... can we order a pizza to celebrate you guys being home and stuff?"  
  
"Don't say and stuff," Holland and Jackson said in unison.  
  
Holly rolled her eyes but smiled. "Fine. Can we order a pizza to celebrate you guys being home and _being a couple_?"   
  
"That's better, sweetie. There's a menu hanging up by the phone," Holland laughed. He and Jackson watched as Holly made her way back to the phone. "You want to just go back to your apartment this weekend and get your clothes then?" Holland asked seriously.  
  
"And my fish," Jackson added.  
  
"And your fish," Holland confirmed with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> I have been obsessed with this movie since it came out and for some reason, upon my like 400th viewing the other day, I got the idea to write this whole thing. The songs referenced are kind of a tiny soundtrack for this fic? And worth a listen if you're so inclined. I tried to use songs that would have been around for long enough that they would have been pretty well known by the late 70's ( _It's Now Or Never_ by Elvis for example was a huge hit when it was released and one of the best-selling singles of all time, so I figured it was probably believable that it might be on an old jukebox in a bar in the late 70's) And _Can't Find My Way Home_ is a total Holland March jam imho.
> 
> I have, sadly, never been to Lodi so I'm not sure what the town is really, truly like although their annual wine festival is something that's on my 'to-do' list. 
> 
> Also, I owe a co-author credit to my cat who tried repeatedly to sleep/walk on my laptop the entire time I was working on this and made me panic more than once as he keyboard mashed away.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> [tumblr](https://imwritesometimes.tumblr.com/)


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